The Prince of Tides
by Knilb17
Summary: Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"
1. Prologue

Title: The Prince Of Tides- Prologue  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: PG  
  
He watched her stumble through his morning ritual, sleep still obviously clouding her perception. From his warm cocoon of quilts on the couch, hidden in the blanket of light's absence, he could see her perfectly. The illumination of the bathroom light exenterated her like a heavenly beam of light spotlighting a choice spot of the forest's autumn floor through a canopy of trees. What was better- she didn't know he was watching. He loved watching her when she was unaware of it. No matter how well you know a person- no matter how much you love them- you will never know the same self that they know. That's why he loved catching these sparsely placed glimpses of THAT Rachel- the real Rachel.   
  
When he had come the previous night, it had been around 2 am and he hadn't had the heart to wake her, so he had simply grabbed a few covers and settled in on the couch. He was glad now that he had.   
  
She was beautiful in the morning.   
  
He knew she didn't think so. No woman alive thought they were even remotely acceptable looking before 8 am, but he had never seen her look so adorable or sexy. Her skin was silky and the color of caramel from his angle. The muscles in her back and neck were defined and they stretched and contracted with every move she made. He wanted to get up, cross the room, and take her in his arms. He couldn't remember a time when he HADN'T wanted to do that, and he would, if doing so would not have blown his cover and stolen away the few precious moments like these that he cherished so much.  
  
But there was blood. And it stained his moment, as it did the bathroom sink, spilling in drops like dew or drizzling honey.   
  
Note: I know it's short, but I didn't have much time tonight and it was just the prologue. Plus, I wanted to leave everyone hanging! :-) Just as a reference, the Prince of Tides is a poem by Pat Conroy and is representative of Satan. That might help in your analysis of the story as it progresses. 


	2. The Next Day

Title: The Prince of Tides- The Day After  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: PG  
  
As he rushed home from work, he attempted dulling the sharp pain that stabbed his side by bracing his arm tightly against it. The nausea that was welling up inside his head and stomach would not be silenced, however. In that moment, he regretted leaving the apartment at all that morning. He had fought with himself over it in the shower for at least half an hour, finally deciding that his refusal to leave would only end up instilling more panic in her than comfort.   
  
All was normal when he entered the apartment. The living room was alive with the hum of the television; stacks of papers and clean-but-yet-to-be-folded-and-put-away clothes were draped over the sofa. He loosened the tie from around his neck, dropped his briefcase on the nearest chair, and contemplated approaching the bedroom.   
  
What would he say to her? She didn't even know that he had seen her. For all he knew, this was something that had been happening for months and she had no intent of ever filling him in. And for all she knew, he was just as ignorantly content with this as he had been 24 hours ago. My, how things change so. He got up and made his way to the bedroom door.   
  
When he stepped inside, he nearly gasped aloud at the battered woman who sat on the edge of the bed. Of course, she was not literally bruised nor cut, but there was something in her demeanor that was...broken. Her cheeks were puffy and the circles around underneath her eyes were pronounced, suggesting that she had been crying for quite some time. Her clothes were wrinkled and fit her loosely- he had not noticed until just now exactly how much weight she had been losing lately. He staggered slowly to the bed, afraid to make any sudden movements. She did not even acknowledge his presence. She knew.   
  
He sat beside her on the bed, shifting the mattress with his weight. Still, she did not look at him. Her eyes remained fixed to the frail hands folded neatly in her lap. With a hiccupy breath that barely bore a word at all, she spoke softly.   
  
"How was your day?"   
  
It broke his heart to see that she was still trying to pretend. She knows me better than that, he thought. He slid a hand into one of hers and brought it back to his lap.   
  
"Rachel...What's going on?" God, please don't let it be what I think it is, he prayed silently to a God he was not even sure existed. He was not ignorant to the sciences of the human body, at least for the most part- he knew what the implications of her nosebleed could mean. He held his breath until she answered.   
  
"It hasn't been happening for that long. It COULD mean several things-"   
  
"That's not what I asked."  
  
He hated to be short with her, but this was killing him a little more every second that she was keeping this from him. It was all he had thought about all day. He needed the truth and he needed it now. He squeezed her hand to encourage her continuation.   
  
"It's what you think it is."  
  
His breath caught in his throat and it took every bit of strength he had not to choke on it. Otherwise, his face remained emotionless. He just starred straight ahead with the same intensity in which she starred into her lap.   
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes. I went to the doctor when it first started happening, about a week ago. It's-"  
  
"Stop." He couldn't hear it. He knew damn well what it was- that didn't mean she had to say it and make the harsh reality that much more real. It was like taking that next step to actually pull back the curtain and look around the bathroom while in the shower after seeing Psycho- the act in itself meant acceptance that it might be real, and that was something he simply could not face. Her alarm at his abrupt interruption of her explanation was evident on her face. She was not mad at him. That didn't stop him from being infuriated with himself. As much as he didn't need this, it wasn't happening to him- not directly, anyway.   
  
"I'm sorry. I just...I can't. Not right now." She nodded. She couldn't either. Not right now- maybe not ever.   
  
"Have you taken a shower?" She shook her head in response.   
  
"Well, I'm going to take one. Do you want to come with me?" It wasn't really a question. He knew she would. She always did. It was one of the invariable certainties about her that meshed so perfectly with all of her meandering, paradoxes.   
  
She let him wash her hair and her face. She knew he loved doing it and, truth be told, she was just too damn tired to do it for herself. He kissed away the drops around her eyes and lashes, but attempted nothing more. She didn't know if that made her feel disappointed or relieved. All she wanted was to collapse in bed before it would be morning again and she would have to do this all over.   
  
When they exited the shower, she dried off with the towel he handed her and absently dropped it to the floor before climbing into bed, stark naked. She watched him behind half-closed lids as he wrapped the towel around his waste and moved about the room, looking for clothes for both himself and her. He pulled the towel from around his waste and replaced it with boxers and a white T-shirt. She was barely aware of him bundling her up in his oversized button-up shirt from that day and wrapping his arms around her before she drifted off to sleep. All she could think about was the undeniable and it haunted her dreams, as it did his.   
  
She had cancer.   
  
(Note: Woohoo. Betcha didn't see that one coming, did ya? As you can probably already tell, this will NOT be a light piece. I cannot even consolingly promise a happy ending, so stop reading now if you can't handle such stories. Just as a disclaimer, in case my previous one was not straightforward enough, the poem and phrase "Prince of Tides" belongs exclusively to Pat Conroy. It ain't mind, kiddies, I'm just borrowing it. Anyway, I'd love some feedback and reviews.) 


	3. I Forgot

Title: The Prince Of Tides-   
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
She had forgotten the meaning of true cold. It almost seemed as if the departure of every winter took with it her ability to conceptualize of anything but New York's blistering heat. She'd forgotten it's aptitude for juicing every ounce of energy she had, but the memory was flooding back to her in waves as she laid curled up underneath the layers of flannel sheets and the white down comforter of their bed.   
  
The world had seemed to transform from a summer beach house's balcony to cavern atop Mt. Everest in a matter of days. She couldn't help but draw the morbid connection between the fluctuation in the recent weather patterns and of her own, battered existence. In her mind, she was still at the beach, but the ocean was merely impossible to see behind the constant sheet of tears that blinded her eyesight. That thought was more comforting, anyway. It was just about the only thing, these days.   
  
She hated how weak this had made her. She could barely bring herself to get up out of bed, and Ross would certainly never force her to. He was tiptoeing around her these days- treating her like some porcelain doll that could not be left alone nor held too tightly. Obviously, that had taken a little getting used to. Jealousy, she was used to. Patronizing, even, was at least vaguely familiar. Babying and catering, however, were alien to her in his ministrations.   
  
Neither of them had slept that first night after she had told him, but for two, entirely separate reasons. She had been exhausted, but his tedious and endless offerings of comfort- both physical and verbal- had been more so. They were endearing at first, but nearly infuriating by the end of the first week. She didn't really understand her reaction to him, but she didn't have the time nor the patience to attempt analyzing them. She simply felt what she felt, and she was definitely feeling a resentment towards him lately that, though possibly unwarranted, exceeded any anger she had ever held for him in the past. If she were indeed the raging fire that she felt building up inside her, then Ross was the all-to-impatient camper, smothering and smoldering her until she extinguished all together.   
  
*******************************************************************************  
  
She had never been so infuriated. Not once up to this point in her existence had she ever felt such an overwhelming urge to punch someone- a very particular someone.   
  
He had not shown up. Not only that, he had expressly TOLD HER that he was going to, and had then ditched her. During the entire, brutally boring doctor's appointment, she had run over the very few acceptable reasons in her mind for his absence in filling the chair next to her. Over the length of that 2 hour meeting, she had managed to derive only 2 possibilities: His mother had died or Monica had died. She knew the second of the two was not true, and he DID have a cell phone, nonetheless.   
  
That morning had been a particularly painful. She had not gotten out of bed yet when he left for work- in his eyes, another blatant sign of depression. It had been HIM who had reminded her of the appointment this afternoon.   
  
"Don't forget, Rachel," he had said. "I know you want to...but don't."  
  
This had challenged her, and hit a little closer to home than he had probably intended.   
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she reputed.   
  
Of course, this accusation made him feel guilty and had compelled him to leave her with a few more hollow kisses before making his way out the door.   
  
Now, HE was the one with the nerve not to show up. When the doctor had asked her if she was feeling any nausea, she didn't quite know what to tell him. Usually? No. At this moment? Unbearably.   
  
She left the doctor's office and made her way down to the street where she had parked the car. Upon pushing her way through the rotating glass doors, the last thing she expected to see stood directly in front of her.   
  
Well, technically, it sat. Ross. Sitting on the pavement of the sidewalk with his back against the brick building, he had not yet seen her.   
  
"Ross?!" she practically screeched.   
  
Yeah, he definitely saw her now. He scrambled to his feet, poised for an explanation, as usual. Only this time...he didn't give one.   
  
"Hi."   
  
His voice was shallow, dulled slightly by the blistering cold and carried away in the wind. He was not hectic nor quick to an explanation (nor an excuse). He just stood there...staring blankly into her eyes.   
  
"Um, what the hell are you doing here? The appointment was 2 hours ago!"   
  
For the first time since she had stumbled across his, his face actually shown some sign of regret. Still, he did not shove an empty justification down her throat.   
  
"Yeah."   
  
(Note: Yeah, sometimes I just get tired of writing. hehe Sorry this update took so long and left you hanging, but you can't always give the audience what they want, right? :-)) 


	4. Someone I Used To Know

Title: The Prince Of Tides- Someone I Used To Know  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
They did not talk on the way back home. They did not hail a cab, but rather walked the 5 blocks from the doctor's office to the apartment- all of which was covered in an irrevocable silence, despite the incessant honking of horns and screeching of tires.   
  
When they arrived back at the apartment, Rachel headed straight for the bedroom with Ross hot on her heels in pursuit. Needless to say, she slammed the door so hard in his face that it cracked the frame. Though he had been expecting that, it hadn't made it any easier. He rested his forehead against the solid oak. He had really screwed up this time. He had been pretty uneasy and on-the-edge during this entire ordeal, but he had never let it affect his supportiveness or his attentiveness before. He had definitely botched this one big time.   
  
He couldn't really account for what exactly had happened. His thought process had been emphatic and impulsive, and before he knew it, he was leaving work and driving to Jersey. For lack of a better phrase, he had freaked out- completely and spontaneously. One moment he had been sitting behind his desk, the next, he was doing 80 down the freeway with only one thought occupying his mind: She was dying.   
  
Though the process was drawn-out, and the end result not yet diagnosable, she was dying. What was more, she was dying a terrifying death that was consuming everything he had ever known of her. Lately, she had been nearly unrecognizable to him. There were brief moments to break the static lullaby- moments when she would smile or kiss him or make love to him- when it almost felt like them again. Now those moments were coming fewer and further in between, and he had as much as resigned himself to believing that one would never reappear.   
  
Three days ago, he had forfeited any remaining hope that they might once again be Ross and Rachel and he had dedicated every ounce of himself to loving the mere skeleton that remained of the woman he had once promised "I do" to.   
  
Today, the realization that he had to consciously make that effort to love her sent him into a fit of anxiety and fear. He had never had to try and love her before- it had simply been a part of who he was. Loving Rachel was knowing Rachel, and if anyone had ever told him otherwise, he would have laughed in their face. He was not laughing today, however.   
  
His thoughts were interrupted by a muffled sob eradiating from the other side of the door. Great, she was crying. That was the only goddamn thing that could have made the situation any worse for him, and it had happened. Of course she's crying, he thought. She married a complete asshole and she's having to find out about it on her deathbed.   
  
"Rachel, I'm sorry. I know that doesn't even begin to make up for what I did, but...I just...I don't know what I was..." Oh hell. He couldn't even tell her how he felt now. How was he ever going to make this work?  
  
"God, Rachel, just let me in. Please, I'm begging you. Just let me in and-" His sentence was cut off by the abrupt swing of the door and the sight of her tear-streaked face and down-turned eyes. With the light of the bedroom illuminating the doorframe, she looked like an angel... one very pissed-off angel.   
  
"And what?! You can give me a million-and-one reasons for why you weren't there today, none of which are the truth?! Or maybe so we can sit in silence like we have been for the past MONTH and watch as our whole goddamn relationship fade away into NOTHING! Is that what's going to happen when I finally let you in here, huh? Or maybe so you can kiss me and pretend like nothing happened- like nothing's BEEN happening- like I'm not DYING and there's nothing anyone can do about it!"   
  
He said nothing. Even if he hadn't been crying too hard to form any coherent words, he wouldn't have had anything to say. She had pretty much taken care of everything. If there had ever been even a glimmer of a doubt in either of their minds as to where they stood, it had certainly been eradicated now. There was nothing but truth now, and it hung in the air between them like damp linens on a clothing line. It was the final showdown and neither of them dared to bat an eyelash. They stood there before one another, both sobbing and breathless and less sure than they had ever been of anything in their lives.   
  
During one nondescript moment, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it, but neither of them really acknowledged the action. It was meaningless and empty and meant more for his comfort and reassurance than for hers.   
  
But then, in one instance, it was she who closed the space between them with a crushing assault against his lips. He had not seen it coming- perhaps she hadn't either- but neither questioned it. She braced herself with his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his flesh, and she wove his fingers through her hair. It was rushed and passionate and needy and sad and familiar all at once. It smelled and felt and tasted like them, and being the first thing that had made either of them feel in over a month, they did not allow themselves to stop.   
  
He slid his hands down her body and stopped at her back, clasping her there and refusing to let go. The jaws of life could not have pried her from his fingers. She moved her hands to cup is face and then up into his hair, massaging his scalp. Their breaths came in an assortment of uneven moans and rough gasps until Ross finally broke the airtight seal of their mouths long enough to breath.   
  
He stepped back, a little unsure of what had just happened and terrified that she hadn't really meant it. He became surprisingly defensive, tightening his hands into fists at his sides. The effects she had over him were frightening at times and he was afraid of doing or saying something rash in light of their recent intimate moment that, in hindsight, he would discover had been devoid of sentiment or meaning. He was still breathing heavily, though, and his eyes were still glazed with want and need for her, and she saw it...he knew she saw it. It was impossible to hide how much he loved her.   
  
The fact that she was just standing there, poised to pounce and starring him straight in the face didn't ease his trepidation. He felt as if she was sizing him up, planning her attack. Finally he let out a puff of air that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle.   
  
"You've got to say something." No she didn't, he thought. She really didn't have to say anything, because no matter what she did or said, he would never leave her and he would never hurt her. He would stand there until the very Earth ceased spinning in anticipation of her next words, and they both knew it.   
  
"What do you want me to say?" She was still testing him. Her face had loosened somewhat and her body was no longer the rigid statuette it had been when they had first begun. He knew how she operated, though, and she couldn't just give in that easily. She had to keep the distance- not for his punishment but for her sanity. He wanted her to know that he wasn't here to argue, though. He only wanted to fix this problem that he had created and to assure her that he would never be so negligent again. He stepped towards her a bit, careful not to seem challenging but rather supportive.   
  
"Whatever you feel. Tell me whatever you feel, Rach. If you're mad at me, yell. If you're scared, cry." At this, her bottom lip began to tremble slightly and he could see that he was getting through to her. Slowly but surely, he was breaking down that concrete wall that she had erected. He stepped closer still, even daring to graze her fingers slightly yet unintentionally with his.   
  
"Rachel, you can't even begin to understand how sorry I am for today. What I did was inexcusable, and I will understand if you can never completely forgive me...but I was just so damn scared. I know, I know, it's stupid. I'm supposed to be the supportive one through all of this. I'm supposed to be the strong one- the one who keeps it all together. But the truth, Rach? The truth is I'm scared out of my fucking mind, and I just lost it. I got in my car and I, I started driving. I didn't know where I was going- I didn't care. I just knew I had to get away from anything that resembled this nightmare we're living in right now.  
  
"But then I realized how selfish I was being, and I was angrier with myself in that moment than you could ever be at me, Rach. The reality of it is that this is what life's throw at us. Nightmare or not, terrifying or not, this is our life right now and we're GOING to figure it out."   
  
In the confusion of attempting to deliberate his words, he forgot about his plan of subtlety and grabbed her hand fiercely with his. He intertwined their fingers, rubbing her thumb gently and thanking God that she was squeezing back.   
  
"Rachel, truth be told, I couldn't live without you. I mean, I've thought about it, and I truly believe that if you were to suddenly step out of my life, I would shut down and die. So losing you is not an option. We are GOING to work through this, and we're going to be okay...and that's what I decided when I was sitting outside that doctor's office today."   
  
He was done. That was all he had to say. That was everything he had left, and if that was not enough for her, well, then he would have to come up with a new plan. For now, all he could do was wait. He soon discovered that he wouldn't be doing that for long.  
  
She burrowed herself in his encircling arms and laid her head to his chest. Her tears stained his shirt and her broken sobs were broken and shattered on his breastbone. Her body shook with each gasping breath and she smelled faintly of the ocean.   
  
Maybe this is what love is really supposed to be like, he mused. They had lived for so long in the sheltered utopia of Ross and Rachel that perhaps they had not experienced the full familiarity of what love actually meant. Love was an act- something you do everyday. It's a constant struggle, but it makes you better for those struggles, in the end. It's a painstaking battle. It's a bloodless, faceless war that you can't help but fighting because the stakes are higher than life itself and the enemy lives inside. Yes, this is what love is, he thought. And I love her even more for it. 


	5. So Very Much

Title: The Prince Of Tides- So Very Much  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: R  
  
*Note: This chapter is the first in this series to contain a R rating. It's nothing too bad, I promise, and it's not gratuitous (at least not in my eyes.)*  
  
The wind pushed forcefully against the windowpane, causing it to crack and creak underneath the torrent of pressure. The shear curtains behind their bed rustled gently, mimicking the howling storm outside at it's failed persistence at rocking the sleepy silence of the apartment. All was quiet and all was dark.   
  
Ross shifted slightly underneath the cocoon of flannel blankets and the feathery down comforter. Hesitantly, he blinked his eyes open and glanced unflappably at the clock next to his head. 4:07 am, and today was Saturday. That meant at least five more hours of undisturbed sleep. He smiled to himself and rolled over on his right side, facing the beautiful sleeping form who's chest rose and fell steadily next to him. He took a few moments to really study her- something he had not had the luxury or pleasure of doing in quite some time.   
  
He let his eyes move carefully over her body, beginning with the haphazard fall of her silky golden hair over her pillow and around her shoulders. Then, he took notice of the smooth texture and tanned color of her skin- how much it looked like caramel yet how much tastier it undoubtedly was. Unable to control himself any longer, he moved closer to her, stretching one hand over the flat plane of her stomach and wrapping the other underneath her back and up to rest in her hair. He smiled as he nuzzled her nose and felt her eyelashes flutter open against his cheek.   
  
"Ross?" she murmured groggily. She was awake, but just barely.   
  
"Yeah." He face was rested next to hers on her pillow, and his fingers were moving lightly over her stomach. She pulled his body up and over to rest partly on top of her. Her hands run up and down the muscled definition of his back, and she let one stop just above the curve of his ass to rest on his lower waste.   
  
"Mmm, cold," she whispered. He was unsure as to whether she was referring to him or herself. Either way, she was right. He moved to pull the covers more tightly around them, but she halted his movements and placed her mouth closer to his ear.   
  
"Not what I meant." She dipped her lips to the soft skin of his neck and kissed him there with a passion that seemed to be reserved for lips only. She dug her fingernails into his back and pushed her hips firmly up into his. He couldn't help but notice the rushed intensity in her advancements, and they both worried and excited him. When she reached her down between them, though, to the waistband of his boxers, he broke their kiss and grabbed her wrist a little more firmly than had been intended.   
  
"Rachel..." be began, his breath rugged and hot against her cheek. He did not have to finish. They both knew what he was addressing. He mentally kicked himself, though, at the realization of the slight pain and embarrassment on her face.   
  
"I'm sorry." He shook his head profusely, balancing his weight atop two braced elbows on either side of her head. He dipped his lips and kissed her brow, then her eyes. Her nose.   
  
"God, don't be sorry." Her chin. "It's just been a while." Her cheek. "I don't want it to be for the wrong reasons." She nodded, the look of confusion fading and then disappearing altogether from her face. Her eyes were wide and wet- not from tears, but from that natural glossiness that is distinct to puppies. She was beautiful. She was his. She was alive.   
  
Her lips.   
  
He pushed his weight down onto her, careful not to smother her. She was so small and he often felt as if he dwarfed her during their lovemaking. He kissed her shoulder and then the valley between her breasts, causing her to wrap her legs possessively around his waist and rotate her hips into him.   
  
He was losing it, little by little. She was unraveling him, just as she had done so many times in the past. Since the first day he had laid eyes on her...since he was fourteen years old...since the ninth grade...she, unlike any other woman he had ever met, had possessed the capacity to break him and then put him right back together again just with one look...one smile...one kiss. The seeming entropy of their relationship was almost more than he could bare at times; the overwhelming sense that they were doomed to failure- that they would spend eternity as star-crossed lovers who never quite could get it just right. Then...God, then there were moments like these...moments where right and wrong were nonexistent. The only thing that mattered was how perfect and complete he felt when he was touching her- kissing her.   
  
Her breath was loud and jagged in his ear, and her hand was creeping slowly down his stomach to a part of him that she had never displeased. When she grasped it in her hand, his breath caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes firmly shut in an attempt to concentrate. He reached for the end-table drawer, but Rachel grabbed his hand.   
  
"Don't." Unsure, he gazed down into her eyes. He had never seen her look more serious.   
  
"Wh...Are you sure?" He loathed every word that stood between him and that glorious moment when he could finally be inside her, but he had to be sure she knew what she was saying.   
  
"Ross...please." God, how was he going to say "no" to that? She was practically begging him. Great, the most goddamn gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on was laying completely naked beneath him, begging him to make love to her, and it was his turn to be the responsible one.   
  
"Ross...I love you...please."   
  
Screw responsibility.   
  
He sunk slowly but completely down into her, letting his body rest atop hers briefly and allowing them both adequate time to adjust to the sensation, before he moved his hips back up. They made love that way for nearly half an hour- slowly but deliberately- and they were both spent when it was over.   
  
It was nearly 5 now, and Ross knew that only another hour remained sacred to them before the certain rise of the sun would disrupt their tomb of solitude. He pulled her body on top of his and rubbed her back until he felt her breath come evenly and shallow, assuring him that she was sleeping peacefully. He then closed his own eyes, but did not drift off to sleep immediately. At least, not until he heard that familiar, feminine, barely-there whisper that always seemed to surprise him when he thought she was asleep.   
  
"I love you so very much."  
  
So very much.   
  
(Note: Weeeee! That was fun. Truth be told, I really just didn't know where to take the story after that last chapter, and I didn't want to waste all the free time I actually had tonight, so I decided to play it safe with the classic "endearing love scene". I knew no one would have a problem with that. :-) More to come later. Review, por favor.) 


	6. Domesticity

Title: The Prince Of Tides-   
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
The smell of coffee and tea wafted over the entire apartment and seeped slowly underneath the closed door of the bedroom. Filling her head and urging her to consciousness, Rachel's eyes slowly fluttered open. There was a brief, confused panic that hit her unexpectedly. The bedroom felt foreign and cold to her. It wasn't until she rolled over and realized that Ross was not at her side that she discovered why. The scent of coffee and tea explained it- he must have been making breakfast again. She loved and reviled, both at once, his continuous attempts at domesticity. While charming, they still contained some plastic quality. She sometimes couldn't help but believe that his unyielding optimism was more a struggle for his own sanity, rather than hers.   
  
She hesitantly rolled out of bed and padded slowly to the kitchen. She didn't bother with the bathrobe this morning, seemingly unaware of her own nudity. She had never been very shy when it came to her sexuality, but something about Ross had always extinguished even the tiniest ray of modesty within her. Even from their first time together, something had always made her certain that he would never hurt or judge her. She knew that he thought she was the most beautiful woman alive, and his physical and verbal worship of her body never hurt her comfort with him.   
  
She paused at the kitchen door, allowing herself to watch him before interrupting his solitude. He was pouring coffee into a mug, his gaze fixed as intently as a surgeon's during an operation. A smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she watched him stir her tea in a separate mug, adding just the right amount of honey. He knew her better than probably anyone else ever had; certainly better than either of her parents, and perhaps even better than Monica. She cleared her throat, causing him to turn away from the counter to face her.   
  
His eyes widened to the size of golf balls and his jaw hit the floor when he saw her stark-naked form just standing there by the door. She smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear- partially out of habit and partially to fill the somewhat awkward and uncomfortable silence that had obviously been provoked by the events of the previous night and now her apparent nudity.   
  
"Hi," she purred, in a voice still clouded with sleep that came from the back of her throat. He shook his head a bit in an attempt to clear his mind and to tear his eyes away from her. He sat the mugs down on the counter, clearing his throat and blinking once or twice. Act casually, he thought. Don't make this harder than it has to be.  
  
"Uh, Hey." He forced a weak smile, knowing well that she was on to him and wasn't buying it for one moment. He took a deep breath. God knew when they would finally muster up enough courage to actually confront the events of the previous night. Part of him knew they had been stupid. However, another part (and a larger part), knew that it had been the first time either of them had felt right it months. For a moment, it been them again, and nothing that brought them together like that could ever be stupid. She smiled what seemed to be genuinely and crossed the room to where he was.   
  
"Is it okay if we talk?" Her eyes were wide and hopeful when she spoke the words, almost as if she truly believed he might have said "no". He let out a puff of hair he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear.   
  
"Of course." He turned to sit down at the table, but thought better of it when she didn't move to do the same. Instead, he just stood there in front of her, waiting for her to speak. His eyes did not leave hers even for a moment. She breathed deeply before beginning, nervously clasping her hands together against her stomach, as she always did when speaking to him about something important.   
  
"I know last night was..."  
  
"Wonderful." He didn't want to interrupt, but he also didn't want to give her a chance to say something negative. He didn't want to know that she might have actually regretted it. A wave of relief passed over him when she smiled and tilted her head to the side, slightly.   
  
"Yes, it was wonderful. Also, though, I know that it felt rushed. Especially with everything that's been going on around here lately, I know it must have seemed a little bit out of the blue. I just want you to know that I didn't intend for it to be like that, and if it made you uncomfortable, then...well...that's the last thing that I wanted."  
  
Uncomfortable. How could she ever think that? "Everything that's been going on around here lately" was what was uncomfortable. Touching her...kissing her...loving her. None of those things could ever be uncomfortable. Those were the only things keeping him sane. He took her wrist in his hand and moved his thumb over it, tracing the vein there.  
  
"Rachel, nothing you've ever done has ever made me uncomfortable. You're the most comfortable thing in my life. What happened last night only happened because, for the past few months, nothing has seemed right, and that was the most "right" thing either of us could think to do. And you know what?"   
  
"What?"  
  
"It was the most right thing I've done in a long time. It felt right. You feel right." It felt good to tell her those things. He couldn't remember the last time he'd told her something like that. All of the hollow "I love you"s and empty "It'll be alright"s that had plagued them for what seemed like forever had offered only a synthetic sheet of comfort that was, for all of it's efforts, nonetheless transparent and cold. These were the first words between them since the announcement of her cancer that had offered any authentic sense of warmth or belonging.   
  
**********************************************************************************  
  
"Ross, that is not a word! We've looked it up in three different dictionaries!" They sat on the floor in the living room, positioned on either side of the coffee table with the Scrabble board sprawled out between them. Rachel wore one of Ross' blue dress shirts and her reading glasses as she flipped haphazardly through Webster's. Ross playfully tossed a science dictionary her way, insisting that "floboton" was, in fact, a word.   
  
"I'm telling you, I remember it from graduate's school! It's some sort of muscle tissue or something!"   
  
"Some sort of muscle tissue or something? Well, as long as you can define it," she teased. This earned her a flying pillow in the side of her head. The atmosphere between them in the past month had been worlds apart from what they had been used to. It was relaxed and familiar and them. If someone had seen the Ross and Rachel of the two months ago and then been told that they would be acting this way now, they would not have believed it.   
  
Suddenly, his playful, boyish grin turned to something more fiery and passionate. He crawled around to her side of the table, picked her up over his shoulder, and plopped her down on the couch. She put up little protest, and he was soon kissing her neck and running his hands over her with the hormonal eagerness that he'd possessed at 16. His hand was halted at the top button of her (his) shirt by the sudden opening of the front door.   
  
"Hey, keep it on!" Phoebe closed the door behind her, juggling a few bags and a purse in her hands. Exasperated, Ross crawled off of her and slouched, disappointed, beside her on the couch.   
  
"I'm sorry, I thought this was our apartment," he quipped. Phoebe made herself at home on the chair beside them and rummaged through her many plastic bags.   
  
"Doing some shopping, Pheebs?" Rachel asked, removing her glasses and setting them on the table in front of her.   
  
"Yeah, and Monica asked me to pick up something for you. By the way, I love the wearing-his-shirt thing. You should do that more often!" Ignoring her comment, Rachel cleared her throat.   
  
"She asked you to pick something up for me?"  
  
"Yeah, here it is!" Phoebe pulled her hand out of one of the bags, revealing a small white box.  
  
"A home pregnancy test?!" Rachel squealed, immediately turning her eyes to Ross, who was stunned speechless on the couch beside her.   
  
"What? You didn't ask her to pick this up for you?"   
  
"No!" Rachel didn't know what else to say. She was afraid that Ross was going to snap any minute. She watched him in anticipation, but his gaze remained fixed on Phoebe, waiting anxiously for an explanation. She had none to offer.  
  
"Oh...well...this is awkward! I guess I'll leave you two to talk about this! See ya!" Phoebe collected her bags and ran out the door as quickly as humanly possible, leaving a freaked-out Rachel and stunned Ross in her wake. Ross shifted slowly on the couch to face Rachel.   
  
"Rach...um...do you know anything about this?" He searched her eyes for any sort of consolation- anything that would offer the least bit of insight as to what had just taken place. No such luck. Her eyes were dark and scared- he wasn't sure if she was scared of him or of what she was about to say.   
  
"I...um...well...I talked to Monica yesterday afternoon about some things. Maybe she just overreacted and assumed something she shouldn't have." Ross' face did not lighten at all with this revelation, and it was obvious that this was not the answer he'd been waiting for. She was still holding something back.   
  
"What did you talk to her about?" He was not upset or angry. His voice held a cautious apprehension that was wary of worsening an already touchy situation.   
  
"It really could be nothing. It's just that, well, I'm late." Ross swallowed deeply. He really wished he had paid more attention during junior high health class. He knew perfectly well what that meant, but his knowledge of the female reproductive system was still pitifully sparse.   
  
"Does that have to mean that you're pregnant?" He chose his words carefully. He was not going to freak out about this.   
  
"No! Not at all! It could have been caused my so many things. I've been under a lot of pressure and anxiety lately, with...well, you know. Not only that, but the doctor said..."   
  
"Woah, woah, woah. The-the doctor? You went to see the doctor and didn't even tell me about it? When was this?" He was losing his cool and he knew it. There was nothing he could do about it, though. He could feel his tempter spinning out of control. How could she keep something potentially so important from him?  
  
"Ross, it was nothing! I didn't think there was any use in telling you and getting you worried when I knew there was a good chance it didn't mean anything! It probably ISN'T anything! The doctor said that woman suffering from cancer experience all kinds of anatomical and biological side effects. An irregular menstrual cycle is perfectly normal for women in my position!" His gaze was still stern, but the sight of her flustered and tear-threatened face broke him a little and cause him to lower his voice and collect himself a bit.   
  
"Okay, so what? Do-do you think you're pregnant?" It wasn't the hint of tears in the corners of her eyes that scared him. I wasn't even the way the corners of her mouth twitched as she contemplated breaking down into a sob. What really scared him - what terrified him to his core- was that he didn't know how he wanted her to answer that question.   
  
"I don't know." She sounded so feeble- so helpless. In that instant, he felt like the biggest asshole that had ever lived. Why the hell was he always messing things up like this? He was so selfish sometimes. He scooted closer to her and wrapped his hands around her back. burying his head in her shoulder.   
  
"Well, do you want to take the test?"   
  
(Note to Oliver: I know I said I wasn't going to take the story down this path, but it seemed like pretty emotional, interesting stuff. Too good to pass up. We'll just have to wait and see what happens! Reviews welcome!) 


	7. It Was Never Really There

Title: The Prince Of Tides- It Was Never Really There  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
She supposed, in that moment, that it was not until you realized just how lost something was to you that you truly craved it. Like a lonesome teddy bear that's been disregarded for years, but is not appreciated nor adored until it's child has been ordered to give it away. Like a cone of ice cream on a sweltering day that you don't know you want until you see the sign advertising it.   
  
Like a negative sign on a pregnancy test that she bought out of fear to begin with.   
  
She was not pregnant. When he had initially asked her, she had shaken her head, proclaiming feeble ignorance, but she had known the answer all along. Deep down, she had sensed that she had never been with child. And at first, the reaffirming pregnancy test had supplied her with the calm reassurance she had needed to face him again. In the days to follow, however, she began to feel that slow itch that she just couldn't shake.   
  
She wanted it. She wanted it like she never thought she could want anything. The only frame of comparison that she could muster up inside her memory was the first night that she had been with Ross. Lying on the bearskin rug underneath the faux expanse of starlight, she had experienced a desire that had frightened her with it's intensity and total disregard for her own self-control. Now, she knew she wanted this just as badly as she had wanted him that night, and that scared her.   
  
Her first thoughts were of how selfish she was being. Who would create a child who's only hope was to suffer? She was sick. She was morbid. She couldn't even assure the continuation of her own life at this point, and yet, she was so adamantly racing towards the possibility of creating a new one with a reckless abandon that had not been experienced since the Lost Generation. What would he think of her if he knew? It was so unlike her. It would probably disgust him.   
  
**********************************************************************************  
  
She ran her hands over the silky smooth Mahogany of the coffee table, lost in thought. She hummed a low, sweet melody underneath her breath, leaving it's exact rhythm a mystery to the empty room. The window in the living room was open, and she imagined that her voice floated upwards and out over the city on a sweet draft of the approaching summer's air. The tune was charged with a certain melancholy that she had come to only associate with the inside of the increasingly dreary apartment, and it made her sad in a very peculiar way to know that it was now escaping onto the streets below.   
  
A quick step could suddenly be heard on the stairwell, and before she knew it, he was inside the door. It had apparently begun to rain at some point during the evening without her noticing, as his hair and jacket were fairly drenched. He shook her head, divesting his hair of the excess water, and removed his soaked jacket to hang it up on the coat rack. Their only acknowledgement of one another were the forced grins they exchanged before averting their eyes and remaining completely still.   
  
The tension when he had left for work that morning had been palpable between them. They both knew that, by the time he got home, she would have taken the test and their lives could potentially have changed forever. Rather than hurrying to her in an excited frenzy, he stayed glued to that spot in front of the door. Needless to say, this broke her spirits a tiny bit more.   
  
Finally, with the timid hesitance of a frightened animal, he approached the couch and took the seat next to her. Neither of them really had to say anything. She shook her head, anyway. The deep puff of air that he let out was too much for her, and she had to turn her head away from him to hide her tears.   
  
"Rach? What's wrong?" When he touched her shoulder, she flinched, and that scared him even more than her. He pulled his hand away as if he's been burned, and placed it back in his lap. He was so confused. This made no sense. He thought this had been what they both had wanted. Unless...  
  
"Rachel...is this about the cancer? Is something...Has something happened?"   
  
With her head still turned awkwardly away from him, she managed a muffled "no".   
  
"Well then what's the matter?" He wanted so badly to touch her. He felt that if he could just take her in his arms, he would magically be able to understand everything she was feeling. Something told him that her words wouldn't be adequate.   
  
Her tear-streaked face turned back to face him. It seemed like that was all he was seeing of her lately- a tear-streaked face. Things had been going so well, but then this decadence back to their lives as they had been a month ago caught them both off-guard. Her chin began to tremble and her eyes darted to the side, refusing to meet his stare. Then, she succumbed completely to him, letting herself collapse into his arms.   
  
"I wanted it. I wanted it so badly." Her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades and he could feel her salty tears and warm breath on his chest. He didn't know what to say. He had no idea she felt this way, and everything that had occurred since he'd arrived home had seemed like a foggy dream. His actions had been robotic and uncontrollable- he had just been going through the motions, as if he'd had no real power over them. And now...now this.   
  
He just stroked her hair and gripped her tightly to himself, whispering words of consolation and reassurance. He didn't know if he felt the same way, but he knew that he was tired of seeing her hurt. He was tired of seeing her in pain. He just wanted, for once, to be able to give her something that she wanted- something that she needed. He wanted to take away the faceless enemy that was invading her body. He wanted to give her the child she had probably wanted since she was 14. He wanted to buy her the house in Westchester with the white picket fence and the sailboat that they could take out every weekend. He wanted for her all the things that she deserved but had never really been there.   
  
(Note: Don't worry, there's always a light at the end of the tunnel. Review, review, review.) 


	8. What Makes You Stay?

Title: The Prince Of Tides-   
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
It always came back to this.   
  
Somehow, it always came back to that bedroom. No matter where they went, or what happened between them, that bedroom was their touchstone. They always ended up lying awake in the middle of the night, neither really sure of the other's consciousness, and praying to God for something that would undoubtedly never be granted. It was sad, but it was all they had anymore.   
  
She had succumbed to it. In retrospect, she couldn't really recall when the absolution at come, but she realized in that moment that the feeling of utter exhaustion and apathy towards her life and everything in it that she felt was far too intense and lonely a feeling to be new. It must have happened sometime between the diagnoses and the failed pregnancy test. It didn't really matter.   
  
She turned her head to look at him. She had done it so many times before, and it seemed to lose a little meaning and comfort each time. Even witnessing the sweet, familiar things that he did in his slumber had no solace left to offer. The soft batter of his eyelashes, the sweet cadence of his breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of chest- they were only pieces of the whole that she had once loved with her entire being, and seeing them now merely reminded her that she was no longer strong enough to love him that way. It was the deepest, most sorry pain she had ever felt. The cancer, the lost child...they were nothing compared to the knowledge that she would never again love this man with the all-consuming intensity that had, at one time, been the only thing she'd known.   
  
Hesitantly, she moved her hand along the cool sheet beneath the covers. She found his resting stilly at his side, and she burrowed her own beneath it. She did not have even the strength to grasp it. Somehow, feeling the weight of his hand resting heavily atop hers was the most satisfying thing she could think of at the moment. Feeling as tired and as broken as she did, it was enough.   
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
When he awoke, she was not beside him. It would have felt almost foreign if she had been. He had not awoken with her in the same bed in a very long time. This morning seemed different, though.   
  
He climbed out of bed and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He could feel the emptiness of the apartment around him; it felt cold and barren. She was not there- he knew it.   
  
He walked out into the living room, only to confirm his suspicion. No Rachel. Being as it was a Saturday morning, he had no idea where she could be. Upon making his way into the kitchen, he found a half-empty mug of coffee sitting on the counter that had not been there the previous night. Sitting next to it was a white sheet of paper. He picked it up and read it.   
  
Ross,   
  
"Look at me.   
  
I'm in a place  
  
I never thought I'd be.  
  
I don't have the strength to fight anymore,  
  
or a reason not to leave.  
  
So, tell me why I keep holding on  
  
to something I just cannot see.  
  
What makes you stay,  
  
when your world falls apart?  
  
What makes you try one more time,  
  
when its not in your heart?  
  
At the end of your rope,  
  
when you cant find any hope,  
  
you still look at him and say  
  
'I just cant walk away'.  
  
Tell me, what makes you stay?"  
  
What makes you stay, Ross?  
  
Rachel  
  
He could feel his knees buckling. What did this mean? A sudden panic manifested itself in his heart, and he thought for a moment that it might beat right out of his chest. Dear God, please say she hadn't left. Things had not been right between them- not REALLY right- in almost a year. He had never possessed the answer- he'd never claimed to. He had not seen the woman he had first fallen in love with in close to twelve months, but oddly enough, his entire world still flipped off it's axis when she wasn't around. He could not be without her, and that was the bottom line. No matter how far away from his Rachel she managed to venture, no matter how distant she grew, he would always need her.   
  
After a few deep breaths, he picked up the phone and called Monica. She answered after the first ring.   
  
"Monica?!" His voice broke, partly because it had been his first word of the morning and partly because he was trying to conceal the approaching tears that were welling up behind his eyes.   
  
"Ross? Calm down..."   
  
"No, no, you don't understand. Rachel's gone. She left this note- it's some kind of poem. I have no idea where-"   
  
"Ross, I know." He skipped a beat.   
  
"What?! What do you mean 'you know'? Where the hell is she? What is this about? Where did she-"   
  
"She came by here earlier this morning. She wasn't carrying a suitcase and she asked me to tell you not to worry. That's really all I can say."  
  
"That's all you CAN say? Monica, if you know anything about where she is, I HAVE to know! You have to tell me! I mean, I can't just go on like nothing's wrong! She's gone!"  
  
"Ross, Ross, calm down! Look, Rachel's a big girl. She's gone through a lot in the past few months. You, of all people, know that. She just needs some time."  
  
"No, I won't accept that! She's my goddamn WIFE. She's irritable, and scared, and TIRED! She's out there by herself somewhere, doing God knows what! I can't...There's no..." He put the phone down and closed his eyes. He was too shaken up to continue, but too devastatingly terrified not to.   
  
"Ross? Are you there? Look, she loves you. I promise you. She didn't leave you and she's not just wandering around the streets of Manhattan somewhere. You're just going to have to let her handle this one on her own."  
  
He hung up. The last thing he wanted to be hearing was that there was something for Rachel to handle and she couldn't trust him with it. He hated the idea of her being that torn and lost and not being able to talk to him about it. Hell, they hadn't talked about ANYTHING for as long as he could remember. He realized that he was still clutching her note in his fist. He held it up and read it again. After a few beats, he whispered his answer.   
  
"You, Rach. You make me stay."  
  
(Just when you think you're out, I DRAG you back in! :-) Review, my good fellow! Review!) 


	9. Like The Tide

Title: The Prince Of Tides- Like The Tide  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Summary: "Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides"   
  
Rating: PG  
  
It has been almost a week since Rachel left. The unmitigated, bleak winter has begun to fade. Leaves have begun to reappear on the trees lining the street outside their apartment, and the sharp, bitter cold that had once encased their building has dulled. The tightening in Ross' heart has not, however, and he walks around the apartment in an illusive daze. He has not been to work since the day she disappeared- he has not even left the apartment. Though Monica has called every day, he feels no real connection with the outside world. She was his only connection to anything, and she had left.  
  
He's been sleeping on the couch, gripping the framed picture of them on their wedding day tightly to his chest. He isn't really sure why he does it. It doesn't make him feel especially comforted, though he knows that it should. The phone sits on the coffee table, undisturbed, except for the once a day that Monica calls to check up. In his heart, he always wishes that it's her. In his head, he knows that it never will be. She is far too classy for that. He knows that the next time he hears her voice, it will be when she is standing in front of him. Maybe it will even be better that way.   
  
This particular day is a Tuesday. Idle Tuesdays- except nothing and anything from a Tuesday. It is nearly 2 pm, and he has yet to move from his position on the couch. He attempted turning on the television once, but the act left him feeling guilty and barren, and he soon grew tired of it. Suddenly, the phone rings, and he jumps for it with a ferocity that is brazen and hesitant all at once.   
  
Ross: Hello?!  
  
Monica: It's just me.   
  
Ross (disappointed): Hi.  
  
Monica: Ross, you know it's me every time. Why do you always sound so disappointed?   
  
Ross: I don't know. I'm fine, though, before you ask.   
  
Monica: I wasn't going to ask. I know that you're not.   
  
Ross (slightly irritated): I've got things to do.   
  
Monica: Like what? Lay around on the couch until you fall asleep again?  
  
Ross (defensive): Hey, what do you want me to do, huh? New York is a big place, Mon. I can't just go running around the city, trying to find her. Even if I could, that wouldn't bring her home. She's not coming back until she's ready. You know that- you're the one who told me.   
  
Monica: Maybe she's ready.   
  
Ross (jumping up): What? Do you know something? Have you heard from her?  
  
Monica: Answer the door, Ross.   
  
Ross: What?  
  
He hadn't realized it, but there'd been nearly three knocks at the door since he'd been on the phone with Monica. Throwing the phone on the couch and rushing to the door, he swung it open.   
  
She always was like the tide.   
  
***********************************************************************************  
  
"Hi," she whispered, her voice small and tentative. He hadn't expected her to look the way she did. When someone vanishes unexpectedly for a week, the image you get in your mind of their return is of someone battered and broken. She was far from those things. She looked better than he'd seen her look in nearly a year. She looked like Rachel- HIS Rachel. The unfamiliar, dark circles that had existed under her eyes had disappeared. Her skin had lost it's hollow tint and was back to it's healthy tan, despite the fact that it was still only in the upper 60s outside. Her eyes were bright and wet- not from tears, but from some confident expectancy that was so like her. She was almost smiling.   
  
"Oh my God," he muttered, pulling her inside the apartment and into his arms. He closed his eyes and let the familiar yet foreign scent of her hair calm his racing heart. She even smelled like the old Rachel. It was something in between dew and that unmistakable scent of...cleanness. It was like the Rachel he had known and loved from so long ago had just reappeared, no questions asked. He felt as if he was not looking at a woman who he'd been missing for a week, but rather a woman who he'd been missing for a year.   
  
He pulled away, smiling and brushing the hair off of her face with the back of his fingers. She brought her hand up to wrapped it around his wrist, making this beautiful noise somewhere between exhaling and laughing. He moved in to kiss her, but instead just rested his forehead against hers.   
  
"Ross..." he shook his head.   
  
"It doesn't matter. I don't care. You're here." He pressed his lips against hers. It was not a kiss. Neither moved to make it more. They merely stood there, remembering what it was like to be that close.   
  
"What's in the bag?" She had been holding a white plastic bag in her right hand the entire time, but he had been too preoccupied to questions her about it. She looked down at it, as if she were just then realizing it's existence for the first time.   
  
"See for yourself." She handed it to him, her face content yet expectant. He opened it and starred down calmly yet in some disbelief at it's content. Pulling it out, he revealed a tiny pink pajama suit with footies and a "trap door" in the back. It had a teddy bear print. He looked up at her, searching her face.   
  
"What do you think about the name Emma?" she asked, smiling the biggest, most gorgeous smile he could ever remember her displaying. He shook his head in disbelief and then chuckled, pulling her in for another hug.   
  
"God, Rach. Where have you been?" She wasn't sure if he meant for the past week or the past year. He wasn't sure, either.   
  
"Let's just say I was doing a little soul searching."   
  
"Did you find what you were looking for?"   
  
"I'm standing right in front of it."   
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Spring turned into summer, which turned into autumn, and along with the changing of the leaves came the birth of Emma Geller. She was the perfect combination of her parents, with her father's chestnut hair and her mother's emerald eyes. She wouldn't know it until she was much older, but she was what had saved her parents. She was the light at the end of their tunnel.   
  
The month before Emma had been born, Rachel's cancer had gone into remission. The doctors had always told her there was at least a 50% chance it would reappear, but it never did. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Like so many other things in their lives, it, too, was like the tide.   
  
Rachel never told Ross where she had been for that one fateful week between winter and spring. He never asked. It simply did not matter. Monica, besides Rachel, was the only one who knew, and even Chandler and never been successful in uncovering the truth. Wherever she had gone, and whatever she had done, it had brought her back to him. It had brought her back to them. After all, only God controls the tide.   
  
(The End. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As for where Rachel disappeared to...I'll leave that one up to the your imaginations :-) Review.) 


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